Images on this website have been digitally watermarked with ownership and usage information. Digimarc and the Digimarc logo are registered trademarks of Digimarc Corporation. The "Digimarc-Enabled" Web Button is a trademark of Digimarc Corporation, used with permission.
Contact the Author
Comments? Questions? Fan Mail? Having Trouble Registering for a Free Account or Posting? Contact Robin Here
Today we honor love; the love we have for our partner, our family, our friends, our sweet fur-babies…perhaps not in that order of importance. Today, I honor my lost true love, a tuxedo cat named, Stanley.
While most people get a box of candy or a card for Valentine's Day, in 1998 I adopted a cat. He was seven years old, skinny and alone in the world. His sister died from FIV. His family gave up on him when they were remolding their home-worried he would get outside and become lost, so they left him at a shelter.
From the first moments with him, I knew he was the one, my one true love. This cat was sweet, devoted, charming, beautiful. He talked to me all the time. I never felt unloved when he was around. He met me at the door. He sat on me every chance he got. He made me laugh when I looked at the asymmetrical markings on his face. He made me cry, and I still do remembering, when he died prematurely after only five years together. Two Vets mis-diagnosed his health problem as something curable when in reality it was HCM and by the time we found out it was too late.
Stanley's been gone for ten years. I'm breathless realizing it's been that long and not surprised the pain of his loss is still sharp. I want him back, but I know that's not possible. I rescue hundreds of cats and look for him in their eyes. I realize it's foolish, but I keep looking.
But my tears are not completely those of a brokenhearted middle-aged woman. They are tears of hope, too. I know I can't have another Stanley, but I can have a cat who reminds me of him, who touches my heart in his own unique way.
When I first saw him, I knew he was the one, but I didn't want to admit it. He was with the wrong family, who suddenly declared having allergies and wanted him gone. Their kid, mercilessly kicking him, screaming at him and chasing him when he was barely four months old. He learned to attack hands and legs, but when I first saw him, I didn't know those things. I just knew he needed help.
From the Craigslist ad. He had me at meow.
When I reached into the cat carrier, I was struck by the silly markings on his face. He almost had a black heart shape over his right eye. He wanted to meet the staff at the vet so I let him walk around the reception desk. His bottle brush black tail was held high. At the very tip, the fur was white. I call that a “tail light.” He was clearly charming everyone who saw him, including me.
I fell even more in love with him when I found out he had Feline Leukemia; that his life would be so short made every moment seem more precious. But the ugly truth of his aggression came out shortly after he arrived in foster care and it gave me great pause.
I worked wit him every day for two months. I repeated the blood tests and it turned out he did not have Feline Leukemia. I allowed him to meet my cats and he beat them up, causing a flurry of peeing all over my home. I had to lock him into a room at night or else he'd cause a ruckus and no one would sleep. I couldn't adopt him out as he was, so I worked with him and waited and wondered what home would be best for him. Clearly he could not live in a home with children, which would rule out most possible adopters where I live.
After many months, I started to realize he wasn't so tough to handle. In fact he started to cuddle with me at night, laying belly up with his head on my pillow-something Stanley used to do, too. He'd reach out and touch my cheek but never put his claws out. This foster cat would lick and lick my face until it was raw. I didn't love it, but he was grooming me, a sign of affection (and maybe my face was dirty, too?).
He's nine months old and weighs thirteen pounds. He's more like a horse, than a cat. He makes me laugh when I watch him run. His butt wiggles and his feet slide out from under him when he chases after a toy. I rarely hear him meow and in fact, I don't know that he ever has. He has a huge purr box and he's much more easy-going and the other cats aren't so bothered by him any more.
I've been good. I've said goodbye to many foster cats over the years. I was sad and missed each and every one of them. I've been able to let them go because I found the right home for them. This one already has the right home and it's mine.Valentine's
It's Valentine's Day after all. It's a good time to adopt a cat.
I've made it formal and signed the Adoption Contract. It's not a surprise to any of you, but please help me in welcoming our latest member of the family: Doodlebug, aka the DOOD.
WARNING: THERE ARE GRAPHIC PHOTOS OF BOBETTE'S SURGERY IN PART TWO OF THIS POST. WHILE THEY ARE NOT CLOSE UP OR VERY GORY, PLEASE VIEW WITH DISCRETION.
THIS IS PART ONE SO YOU'RE SAFE.
It's rather ironic that there's so much going on in my life to write about, yet I don't have time to write any of it down. Meanwhile the days slip by and the details become a bit fuzzy around the edges.
Last week marked the first time I'd ever witnessed anything more than a spay surgery. It was time for Bobette to have surgery to (hopefully) correct her luxated patella. The poor girl couldn't walk without limping. Her kneecap was so far out of place it was a wonder she could run or jump at all. She mostly used her other legs for jumping and if she got really inspired to go after a toy, her back end would slip out from under her when she ran. Clearly, she needed help, but there was no guarantee she would ever walk normally again. Getting a kneecap back in place is one thing, but to get it to STAY in place is another.
There was much to do to prep for Bobette's life after surgery. Dr. Mixon, her Vet, wanted her to have cage rest for three weeks, so I got out my biggest dog crate and set it up, not realizing I was making a big mistake. I'd never had a cat with an invasive surgery on a limb to recover from-of course I'd cared for Bob after 1/2 of his liver was removed just a year ago, but all I had to do for him was make sure he was eating and staying quiet on his heated bed. With Bobette, I'd have to keep her from moving at all costs. I hated to lock her up in a cage, and force her to wear the “cone of shame,” but she had to rest.
In the first week, should Bobette be able to bend her leg at all, she would ruin the surgery and her kneecap would pop back out. We had to give it time to set in it's new position and that meant a lot of sitting around. For a year old cat, who wants to play, that was a lot to ask for.
The morning of the surgery I was feeling hopeful, but scared. I thought I'd be sitting in the waiting room until they finished up, but Dr. Mixon came out and asked me, or was it told me?, I should come back and see the surgery. My heart dropped into my pants. ME? Watch? Even though I watch all those ER “reality” shows on TV, I ALWAYS look away when they get into the gory surgery scenes. There was no looking away from this, but could I handle it without throwing up or fainting?
I didn't realize I'd have to help out, which is not a problem at all, especially considering Dr. Mixon was doing the surgery for about $2000.00 less than an Orthopedic surgeon would have charged. Dr. Mixon is a General Practitioner, not a specialist, but he admittedly enjoys doing orthopedic procedures and another friend said her dog did well after Dr. M. did a similar surgery on him.
Bobette was sitting in her cat carrier, her pupils dilated. She hadn't had breakfast-of course-because anesthesia can cause the cat to vomit and you don't want her to aspirate anything into her lungs and get pneumonia. It's better not to have a full tummy (but you tell that to the cat!). Two days before we'd been in this same waiting room together, but only to get Bobette's pre-operative blood work done so we could make sure she'd be healthy enough for surgery. With three people holding her down, there was no way to get her blood, so we had to hope that being so young she'd be fine under anesthesia-this is not something I'm happy to report. I'm sure as we sat together, Bobette was getting very tense, probably reliving what happened those few days prior and I wondered if she'd become so fractious that we'd be able to do the surgery at all.
I brought her into the back of the Practice and sat her on an exam table. The Vet tech was getting supplies ready and I asked her to walk me through what was going to happen next and what she'd want me to do. Mostly I had to just hold Bobette down and not lose any fingers in the process but I kept thinking' “I'm a Graphic Designer! I'm a Graphic Designer. I'm NOT A VET TECH! WHAT AM I DOING HERE?!”.
I took the lead and spoke very calmly to Bobette. I didn't restrain her very tightly. We were very quiet as we worked on her. It wasn't difficult at all to give Bobette a few shots. One was to relax her so we could insert the IV, which would be in place during surgery and provide her with fluids. The other was the dreaded Metacam, which I challenged Dr. M. on giving her because it's known to cause renal failure. He quickly pushed back and said it was safe if she was kept hydrated. I was really tweaked that he gave it to her after all I'd heard about it killing cats more than helping them, but what could I do? Now I'm thinking we'll have to do a post op-blood test to see if she's ok.
I held Bobette down so the Tech could insert an IV into her leg. I was really feeling like a traitor. Here is this sweet cat. I don't know her very well, but I still care about her. She's scared, drugged up and only at the beginning of what is going to be a very awful day. I couldn't blame Bobette as she pitched a fit and shrieked as the Tech tried to shave her front leg. Try as we might, we couldn't get her to settle down so it was decided she needed to be gassed so she would just konk out.
The Tech grabbed a plastic storage tub with holes cut into either end. One end was taped up and the other was open. She attached a hose to the open end, then had me place Bobette inside the bin. She barely fit. I started to realize maybe this is what they do to kill cats at shelters? I wanted to grab the box, get Bobette out and RUN for it. This just seemed inhumane, but what do I know about this---nothing other than it really bothered me to see this happening.
The Tech snapped down the lid and turned a dial allowing the gas to enter the box. Bobette didn't fuss at all and in a few minutes was slumped down, oblivious to the world around her. It's VERY UNNERVING to see an unconscious cat. They might as well be dead, because it's not much different. I kept wondering how anyone could do this to animals every day and not have nightmares each night.The Tech told me she was going to remove the lid FAST. I had to get Bobette out of the box, then run with the box into a back room and NOT BREATHE ANYTHING IN OR I WOULD PASS OUT, TOO.
YIKES!
I told her to do a countdown and on…“1” we jumped into action. I couldn't be distracted by Bobette being so limp. I put her down, grabbed the box and ran off, making sure the lid didn't come back off. I was weirdly tempted to open the lid and take a big sniff so I had a reason not to see the surgery, but I figured I would hit my head when I passed out, too. Probably not the best idea.
Then began a very long process of preparing Bobette's leg for surgery. I kept wondering how long she could be unconscious without it doing her harm. The Tech asked me to adjust a light or hold something or get this or that. She began to shave Bobette and we discovered she has very odd fur. It grows in different directions and was difficult to trim down close to her skin. I noticed that Bobette has a tuft of fur on her neck that reminds me of Alfalfa from the Our Gang show (It's probably before your time, so here's a link )
Poor Bobette. I just wanted to take her home, but the surgery hadn't even begun. She looked so helpless laying on the table. I whispered to her that it was going to be okay. I hoped it wasn't a lie. A monitor nearby beeped every time her heart beat. As long as we heard the beep, she was okay.
Bobette's leg was wiped down a few times. Dr. Mixon saw what the Tech was doing and stopped her. She missed a spot on Bobett's leg right under the tape that held her leg in place. She had to shave it down and re-do all the antiseptic wipes, which again, Dr. Mixon corrected, making certain that the area where the sugary was being done was NOT getting wiped over twice. Even though it took a lot of time, I was glad he was a stickler for keeping things clean.
Bobette was fine so far. I was fine, too, but was glad I wasn't attached to a heart monitor because everyone would know just how scared I was. Bobette's monitor kept beeping along…beep…beep…beep.
Then Dr. Mixon began draping Bobette with layers of cloth that would allow him to focus only on her leg and also to keep the surgical area cleaner. I kept thinking that surely he was done, but he'd add another layer. Then he slipped a small sock over Bobette's leg and cut a hole into it which was over the area where he'd be making the incision. After he created the opening, he quickly sutured around the edges of the opening so the fabric would stay in place. This was the final task he had before he could get started.
He was very focused and there was little talking. The only sound was the beeping of the monitor. Dr. Mixon looked up for a moment and said; “Now you know why these surgeries cost so much money.” And even before he made one cut, I understood. The prep work took at least an hour if not more. When he was done, Bobette the cat was gone and in her place was an alien leg sprouting from a field of pale green sterile sheets.
I had a blast kittensitting for my friends at Animals in Distress last week. Their five frisky felines were very friendly and joyful. It was pure delight to be around them-until, of course, they decided it would be fun to climb up my legs! Yes, they all need a CLAW TRIM! Aunt Connie came to get them on Sunday. I was sad to see them go, but it just makes me look forward to getting The Angel Babies and Bob's Pumpkin Patch kittens in the coming weeks.
I have a bit of an exciting and surprising update to share. After scratching my head for months, trying to figure out how to approach local Vets to help my rescue, Kitten Associates, a Vet sort of fell (figuratively) into my lap.
It seems that someone who runs a rescue where I used to volunteer is mis-behaving rather badly by having an affair with the husband of one of her current volunteers! The news was quickly spread all over town by the jilted wife/volunteer with such passion that I felt like I needed to duck and hide once I heard the news. Without going into details (there are lots of other issues going on that I can't speak about that make this situation a bit more touchy) or pointing fingers, let's just say that one of the repercussions of these events was that one of the local vets said he didn't want to work with this person's rescue group any longer.
When I heard this news I thought either the Vet would NEVER want to work with another rescue group again, or that perhaps he just didn't want the emotional issues to deal with, but would need time to want to help out again. Feeling rather desperate to find a low-cost Vet, I thought the worst thing he could do was say NO if I asked for his help.
What surprised me was that before I could even try to pitch why he should work with us, he said, YES! He just wants to help cats. He's willing to donate some time to K.A. every month. During that time he won't charge me an office visit and will help reduce costs across the board for vaccinations, spay surgeries and anything else. I wanted to cry, but he didn't even want thanks. I offered to help him by doing design work for him at a reduced rate and he didn't need it. He just wants to help a rescue, so he's going to help us.
Do I feel a bit creepy about asking this Vet to help us? Yes, but the future of K.A. depends on us being able to make the most of the donations we get. Because of this Vet's help, I was able to rescue two more local kittens. I have to remind myself, to paraphrase the words of this Vet, it's all about the animals and their well being. The politics and B.S. we can both do without.
The interesting/challenging aspect of our arrangement is that if I ask him to spay/neuter a cat, that I HAVE TO ACT AS HIS VET TECHNICIAN. This means, shaving the girl's belly, holding them while they get their anesthesia shot, helping with them after they are out of surgery and whatever else is needed. I was told I don't have to watch the surgery-thank GOODNESS! There are things I can do and things I can learn, but there are some things I just can't do. When I have a loving connection to my foster kittens, the last thing I want to see is them knocked out and being sliced open.
Tomorrow is my first time helping neuter the three boys in this litter of black or black and white kittens! Max, Ruby (mis-named!) and Spot are ready to go. Because these are A.I.D. kittens, and I'm sharing resources with them, their Aunt Connie is going to be a Vet Tech, too. We're both going to learn about what's needed. I have to be ready for next month when the two little girls I rescued will need to be spayed. Scared? Yes, a bit. I'm Hoping I don't mess up or irritate the Vet. He's doing so much for us. I wish there was something I could do to thank him!
I can't help but feel weird about all of this, but in time it will sort itself out. Just so you know, the group that lost their Vet has at least two others they work with, maybe three, so this doesn't hurt them as much at it might appear on the surface.
By the way, ALL THE KITTENS FEATURED HERE ARE AVAILABLE FOR ADOPTION! They're located in southern Fairfield County, Connecticut. Visit AID's web site for adoption information.
I'm so proud and choked up that my eyes are burning and tears will be rolling down my cheeks any time now. When I started writing my blog in 2006 I had no idea of how meaningful the connections I've made with some of my readers would become. Many of you are near and dear to me. One such person, is Warren Royal.
Doing any kind of animal rescue is heartbreaking. Being willing to take a stand, even for one animal, takes a great deal of courage, as well as a few resources. It's difficult to put yourself on the line and take responsibility for an animal you may end up having to later euthanize. This is not for the faint of heart, but it is for the “big of heart.”
I've never met Warren or his wife, Terri, but I've come to know them through their love and devotion to cats. They started by accident, one night getting a pizza with mushrooms. A tiny stray cat begged for a morsel to eat. They were hooked. They had to help cats in need. The tiny stray came home with them.
Terri cares for the family's five cats, but she also feeds SIX feral colonies and does TNR (trap, neuter, return). That she does this in Georgia, makes her a Saint. Though there are MANY dedicated rescuers in Georgia, there aren't enough. Their shelters are bursting at the seams year round. Cats (and dogs) are often treated as no better than garbage. Terri stands up for them.
Buddy is Punch Drunk, he's so in Love!
Warren, has a huge, compassionate heart. He is also generous. When he decided to take in a stray cat from a local church, he never backed down, even though the cat he named, Buddy, needed a lot of costly veterinary care because he is FIV+. [Read about Buddy's background HERE and HERE] Warren just kept on giving Buddy the best. Knowing he could not give Buddy a forever home, he found a fantastic placement at Humane Society of Forsyth County, where Buddy had his OWN ROOM, a special place for FIV+ cats.
Warren visited Buddy often, but was sad to see him there alone. One day, Buddy was joined by another cat named Aslan whose owner had a terminal illness and was forced to give up her beloved FIV+ cat. Fate must have guided their caregivers to put these two cats together because they became fast friends.
BFFs: Buddy and Aslan.
We knew it would take a long time for Buddy to find a home, but we also took joy knowing he was safe. Then, just yesterday, after only a few short weeks of waiting, something amazing happening. We got the news that Buddy had been adopted!
Congratulations, Buddy!!!!
He got ADOPTED by a Vet Tech! Who better to understand the care Buddy will need and be able to provide it for him? It was sad that he would have to leave Aslan, after just meeting her and luckily the Vet Tech thought the same thing...
She adopted Aslan, too!
Congratulations, Aslan!
How marvelous and magical, it approaches miracle status! Two senior cats, BOTH with FIV+, placed together. WOW! WOW! WOW!
If it hadn't been for Warren, sticking his neck out, getting into a "discussion" with the members of a church who thought it was fine to let Buddy live outside in a plastic tub and never get any Vet care, Buddy would be on the fast path to death. Between his terrible teeth problems, FIV+ and kidney issues, Buddy didn't stand a chance. Thanks to Warren, Buddy is going to have a fantastic life, a new best feline friend forever, a family to call his own and an endless supply of love he so richly deserves.
This post is dedicated to you, Warren. BRAVO!
---------------------------
Please note: FIV+ is NOT a death sentence AND it does NOT mean that a cat with FIV+ can't live with non-FIV+ cats. That's just not true. FIV+ and non-FIV+ cats can live together safely. My cat, Bob Dole has FIV+ and he lives in harmony with my zillion other cats. I just don't worry about them getting it. It's only transmitted through a DEEP puncturing bite wound or sexually and if your cats are spayed/neutered, as they SHOULD BE, then no worries!
We all get notices about cats and dogs needing rescue. Many of them are marked as “urgent.” It's great that we can get together and help spread the word, BUT there are millions of animals out there who need help, who go unnoticed. Many of them don't have a group of folks trying to help them get a forever home.
I came up with a fun way to help animals, it's totally free, just takes a minute of your time and could potentially help save more animals lives.
Step Two: “Search for a Pet.” Do you want to help a dog, cat, bunny, goat, what? Chose Animal Type, Breed, and a zip code. You can GUESS a zip code, or chose the zip code of your own home town. It's more effective if you choose a local zip or a zip in your state, since most of your friends will be able to share with their friends and be able to act on a local level! Hit the “GO” or “SEARCH” You don't have to fill in BOTH locations of Search for a Pet, just one is fine.
Step Three: Review Search Results. Which animal would you like to save. Pick one!
Step Four: Chose the Tweet and the Facebook icons to share with your friends!
Make sure you ADD information on WHERE the cat is located when you send out your Tweet or Facebook share!
That's all it takes! Doing this does not require you to adopt a cat or sponsor a cat or dog, etc, but it's a way of helping spread the wod about animals in need and it's fun to know that you may have helped get that animal adopted because one of your friends, or their friends, or beyond...has heard about that animal and it got a home.
WARNING: THERE'S A GRAPHIC PHOTO OF BOB'S STAPLED UP BELLY AT THE END OF THIS POST.
Bob made it through the first night after the major surgery to remove the right lobe of his liver. It had a 5cm mass on it and it needed to go. Fortunately, Dr. Weisman was able to remove the entire mass, but because the rest of Bob's liver didn't look so great, she had to biopsy a small part of that, as well. She also biopsied some lymph nodes. The pathology will takeFIVE DAYS. This means that with the holdiay upon us, I'm guessing I won't know a thing until next week. For now, the goal is to get Bob to perk up, start eating and use his litter pan.
This morning I was told that Bob was not eating. He's on pretty serious pain meds right now and between that and the operation, he must feel like Hell. I offered to come see him and try to get him to eat, since I know all his favorite treats. I figured, if nothing else, I had the dreaded dry food to give him if he wouldn't eat anything good.
I couldn't get up there fast enough, but I admit to being one of the many people who stayed up late the night before to (attempt to) see the Eclipse. It was too cloudy here and though I hoped the stupid clouds would move out of the stupid way, they did not. I watched some of the “show” online, but it felt phony and awful. I went to bed and got a few hours of sleep, but felt hungover when it was time to get up.
Sam wanted to see Bob, too, so we ditched whatever plans we had and grabbed some raw food and treats for Bob. We stopped at the store and I bought a small container of chicken liver. Gross, but yes, Bob LOVES it. I don't give him much of it, but I had to arm myself with everything I could, in case he would eat for me.
We got to VCA Cheshire in the early afternoon. They told us they weren't busy and to come over. Just as we got there a family got ahead of us. They were there to see their dog, so we had to sit and wait for them to stop visiting with the dog so we could see Bob. My blood started to boil. Why they couldn't put Bob in an exam room was beyond me.
The minutes ticked by. After 30 minutes I was about to spit fire. Then, out of nowhere, was Dr. Weisman. She came over and explained what was going on, that it was very busy in the back and that they were going to put us in a room with Bob. At last! As we stood up to walk to the room, I saw through a window in the door to the hall. A tech was holding BOB in her arms!!!!
I asked for a towel for him so he wouldn't have to sit on the cold steel exam table and she brought out two. Bob seemed like Bob. He didn't look near death's door, but he wasn't very perky, either. We gave him pets and kisses. He started to purr faintly.
Bob has the best purr. I have an audio recording of it that I must figure out how to share one day.
Bob was clearly in pain. He didn't move much and his head was almost always down on his paws. He was wiped out. What did I have done to my boy?
We began putting different food combinations together. We brought out all his treats. He ate nothing. He was fine if I rubbed something against his mouth. He even licked at it a bit, but we thought he throat was hurting from being intubated, along with everything else. He wouldn't eat raw, or dried chicken treats or dried salmon treats. I opened the container of chicken livers. I had no way to chop them up so I washed my hands and just ripped up little bits. I put them right under his nose and he licked a few off my fingers. It wasn't much, but it was something. I tried over and over again, to encourage him to eat something more, but he refused.
I didn't want to push him too hard, so I let it be. I washed his face and he purred for me. We pet him and talked to him, told him to get better. I wanted to see his belly, but I didn't want him to exert himself by having to stand up or roll over. I wanted to sit on the floor and hold Bob on my lap until he felt better again.
I ran into the Doctor again. We talked about Bob. She wasn't too worried about him not eating. He's on an IV, so that's good. Her concern is she wants to see Bob perk back up. Have some twinkle in his eyes again, then he can come home-even if he's not eating. That surprised me, but she knows best. Instead of coming home today, our next hope is that he will come home tomorrow NIGHT, at the earliest. She said if we had been through what he had, we would be in tremendous pain and not want to eat, either. On a good note, Bob DID use his litter pan and had a good pee. He wouldn't use their tiny pan, but when they gave him a big one, he went for it and made a big mess, splashing the litter all around! How unlike Bob to make a fussy mess! Maybe he still has some “Bob” left in him?
The tech came to get Bob and I gave him another kiss. She lifted him in her arms and that's when I saw it...his belly. My heart sank. I knew the incision was going to be long, but I wasn't prepared for what I saw. My Bob looked like franken-kitty!
I could only think about how badly that incision must HURT and on top of that, what's going on inside his body right now? My poor, sweet boy. I am so sorry I had this done to you, but I know it was your only chance of getting better. To know I made my cat suffer so much...well, it's a very uncomfortable feeling. If I think about it too long, I'll start to beat myself up. I made this choice for him-his one chance. Now he has to heal and show us he can make it and I will do everything I can to help him get there.
Three years ago I trapped three feral cats. I thought I was trapping only one, but to my surprise, I ended up catching three! I thought they must all be related, and maybe in some ways they were. Clearly one female was older than a second female. They were always seen together- they had to be Mother and Daughter. I named them, Bronte and Madison. A third cat, I named Buddy, was a big, gray Tom who'd been in plenty of fights in his day. He was ragged and rough, with devilish golden eyes, yet he was far from fractious, just as the other two. I think they'd known human contact at some point in their lives, but over time those memories had been replaced with their primal, wilder urges.
I detailed the story of my first trapping experience, capturing Buddy, Bronte and Madison HERE.
Fast forward a few years...
You know that Buddy showed up injured a few weeks ago and since then we've tried a few different methods to trap him. Thankfully, Karlyn is a super-trapper and builds her own traps. This was what eventually did the trick, not only trapping Buddy, but Bronte, as well. Since neither of them had been to the Vet for years, I decided they could both get their shots updated and have a checkup and we'd finally be able to help Buddy with his leg injury.
Recently, when I saw this cat, he was a big gray Tom with lovely golden eyes, but his ears weren't ragged and he had a sweet look to his face. He looked more like a lover and less like a fighter. I started to wonder if Buddy had long since left us and been replaced by a Buddyganger; a feral cat-double!
Even after we trapped him, it just didn't look like the same tough guy I once knew. That left me feeling both sad and curious. When had Buddy left us and who was this cat? Where did he belong? He couldn't be a neighbors cat, could he? It would be a lousy neighbor if they ignored their injured cat for weeks on end—also, this boy really WAS a LOVER. He was still INTACT!
So our dear friend, Buddy is gone. What his fate was, we will never know. I don't even want to guess as my home abuts a State Forest. My neighbors are wild animals. 'nuff said.
And who is this new cat? He's in need of a name. Since we have Bronte, already, how about Austen-in honor of Jane Austen, author of our perennial favorite 5-hour-mini-series-version-only, the one staring Colin “Hottie Pants” Firth, “Pride & Prejudice!”
Luckily for Austen, upon exam there was no sign of injury. Austen must have had soft tissue damage or a thorn that he worked out of his paw. Whatever it was, there was no old or new break and he had full function of his limb. His shots were updated and he was tested for FIV/FeLuk (neg/neg). Sadly for Austen, he is not a LOVER any more. I had him neutered-even if he IS someone's cat. Tough! (I really doubt he's someone's cat, though!). So no more yeowling in the yard, no more stench of cat spray, just a nice de-balled kitty with a very forlorn look on his face. At least he won't be fighting any longer or making little Austen's.
Bronte, poor dear, cried in her trap. I felt so bad for her. She just needed her shots. She got scared and peed in the car on the way back from the Vet. I can't get the smell out of my nose. Hope I didn't pee up there, too, in some freak accident I didn't notice. Whew...yikes!
While the cats were gone, I cleaned out their room in the screen porch. I set out a fresh bowl of water and lots of food. When we put the traps down, I got two photos-one of each of them. Austen, shot out of his cage like a rocket after I moved out of his way. Bronte was much more cautious. She went to the opening of the trap and reached out one paw towards the floor, but did not touch it. It was if she was testing to see if the trap would close on her if she tried to get out. She held her paw an inch over the floor for a long, few seconds. Then, carefully touched the floor. Nothing happened. And then she was gone, like a ghost, without a trace.
I hope they return as soon as they find a way to forgive me or their bellies get empty, whichever comes first.
Last year I fostered four kittens. One of them was fractious. He bit the Director, then when I got him he ended up biting me, twice. I wrote about this kitten's journey, being in foster care and the tug of war over whether or not I would be able to socialize him before he was neutered, ear-tipped and released to the woods. While his brother and sisters played, I got into an argument with the Director about this cat's future. While I won the battle, I lost the war. We never truly got along after that. For this one cat, named Tweetie, I took a big chance. I was either going to be stuck with him forever as an unadoptable cat or I was going to have to find a way to reach his heart and help him learn that humans are ok.
I wrote about this crazy journey in “The Tweetie Chronicles.” Little did I know that this little cat would make such a huge impact on my life. As I was working with him and he began to trust me. One day I noticed he looked just like “The Internet's Most Famous Cat, Sockington!” and decided to Tweet about it. If you read the Chronicles, you'll see in detail how Socks' Fans, “Socks Army” rallied around Tweetie and urged Sockington to do the right thing and acknowledge that Tweetie was his secret son. It was all fun and games, until I was contacted by Socks' Mom, “Food Lady” and his dad, “Fatty,” who I call, Mr. Scott.
Food Lady came to visit Tweetie. Her tender heart urged her to help. Since her other cats, PennyCat and Sockington were also rescued from dire situations, it just felt right to help another cat in need. The visit went better than I could have dreamed. Tweetie went right up to Food Lady and sat on her lap, purring. He looked up at her and perhaps, in that moment, his future was locked into place.
A few days later, Sam and I drove Tweetie to Boston for a “trial” adoption. That was ONE YEAR ago TODAY.
Tweetie's trial is long over. He's now a cherished member of the family. A few days ago I got an email from Food Lady, updating me on how Tweetie's been doing. Here's some of what she had to say:
“He's still a real snugglebug. He tends to follow me around the house (although having said that, I'm not sure where he is at the moment). He can't jump as well or as elegantly as Socks (those long legs, you know) so Socks will hop atop the bookcase or dresser, causing Tweetie to get very vocally upset. :)
He's got a thing for brushes - I now have to hide away my makeup brushes and the big poofy wool duster, because he runs off with them in his mouth. :)”
Food Lady also told me that Tweetie eats everyone's food so he has to be fed in a separate room! Oops! He also likes to sneak up on Socks and bite him in the bum! Tweetie and Socks are quite close, even if Tweetie is a pain in the butt-literally.
What lies ahead for our former foster? We really don't know anything more than Tweetie has grown up into a big, sweet, playful kitty. Will he ever be as famous as his dad? Probably not. Does it matter? Not to him, surely.
So without further adieu, put on your party hat and get out the nose makers! Not only can we celebrate the adoption of a cat who beat the odds, but we can take delight in the fact that Tweetie's life in the glow of the nearby limelight suits him just fine.
Another chapter in the Tweetie Chronicles draws to a close. Along with the big smile on my face and the proud feeling I have about Tweetie's success, I'm enjoying the new nickname “Tweetie” gave me in honor of this special day. You may now call me, “Nice Robin Lady.”
I learned at an early age that I would never be a sports heroine when instead of gracefully grabbing a fly ball in my mitt, I caught it with my FACE. The ball hit me on my upper lip, chipping my top two and bottom front two teeth. I was 9. I was wearing the new, matching bright orange polyester short set my Mother had just got me from K-Mart. I was terrified I'd get blood on my clothes and get yelled at, so while I was screaming and squirting blood, I held my head forward to drip onto the ground, as I walked the three (hundred, it seemed) blocks back to my family's house.
I was lucky that just about at that time, my Dentist had learned about a new procedure where you could use some sort of concrete (or whatever) and bond it onto the chipped teeth. He did the repair, while I was trying not to pass out from having all the nerves exposed in my teeth.
The repair lasted all these MANY years, but it was discolored and the bonded material was chipping away over time. It didn't look great and my front teeth, well, they aren't so aesthetically pleasing, anyway, so...my Dentist, Dr. David, who is awesome, who I share the same birthday with, same day and YEAR, has been after me to get veneers.
What a complete waste of money. Pure vanity! Just re-bond the teeth and be done. But the re-bonding won't ever match and will discolor. The material will fail and I will still have teeth that flare out at the bottom, like an outdated skirt from Goodwill.
We're about to lose our Health Insurance and I had some money left to use in the dental plan. I figured I was going to get about 25% off if I did the veneers, so in case I ever become famous, I figured, why not?
Let's just say, that although Dr. David is a fine Dentist and I really like him a lot, I can't understand how celebrities get a full set of these things. Holy crap! It's not that painful during, well not painful at all, but afterwards, yikes, not fun, but the WORST is when the temporaries come off and you get to hear your temporaries being CRACKED, following by pieces of the material falling down your shirt. I know I'm going to have nightmares about this.
After the chipping, cracking, buzz sawing, I was left with a fat lip, numb inside my nose and gums and with a much nicer smile. I will post before and after photos, maybe.
Bob Dole, my cat, also went to the dentist, well, he saw Dr. Larry. Since Bob has FIV+, he's prone to having gum/teeth problems. Bob's down to about 6 teeth and we're doing all we can to KEEP what he has left. Dr. Larry told me that Bob had a nasty looking molar and that it needed work now to prevent it from having to come out later. We ran the usual blood panel and everything looked normal, except for Bob's ALT. Bob has never had a normal ALT, but word was it was not as high as it had been in the past. I give kudos to his raw diet and no-more-kibble nutrition for making a difference.
That said, all the good blood work in the world wasn't going to assure me that the sedation wouldn't kill Bob or mess him up badly. I hate having Bob sedated and I'm sure I'm a pain in the ass about asking to have someone call me the second he's awake and the procedure is done. Bob's old. I don't know how old, but maybe 14 or so?
The other thing Bob needed was a haircut. I do brush him, but not often enough. He gets nasty mats and with the warm weather upon us, I thought that for once I'd get him a “lion cut” which would remove all the mats and give him a fresh look for the summer. I hoped he wouldn't be embarrassed.
Bob took it like a champ. Bob is unflappable unless he's hungry-then there's a LOT of flapping. Sam and I picked him up at 6:30pm. We got to see him in his cage. The cage card had “FIV+” highlighted in marker, under his name. It made me sad. Bob had to be separated from the other animals. I never think about him being contagious to anyone. In fact, I am going to have his combo test re-run. I dunno...are there false positives?
Bob looked a bit sad. He didn't have any teeth extracted, which was great, so I knew he would be too uncomfortable. I called to him and opened the cage door. He looked so odd! It was if there was Bob's head, attached to another body all together. I could still see the mackerel stripes where his fur was trimmed away. He feels very nice and smooth and has very cute fur “boots” on this legs. Super Deb, knew I'd be posting photos of her work, so she made sure to do an extra nice job. I never thought writing a Blog would bring a perk like that! Yes, Super-Deb, you will still be called “Super.” You did a good job. I think Bob appreciates, too, that you “expressed” his anal glands (if you want to read more about why cats need their anal glands cleaned out, see my post here). I'm sorry I didn't notice he was having a problem back there! I was also surprised that Bob has STUD tail! What's up with that? I guess once a stud, always a stud.
Bob's home now and crabby. He wants to eat. I'm not supposed to feed him, so I fed him a little bit. He wants more and is hissing at all the other cats and checking out their empty plates for a scrap to eat. I want to eat, but my gums are killing me and the nerves in my front teeth are throbbing. I'm crabby, too. Sam had a crown replaced yesterday and a filling done a few days ago, but somehow he remains crabby-free. It's been “2:30” for too long. Here's hoping for a time change coming soon.(crossing paws).
I love what Matter of Trust is doing to help protect the shore birds and wildlife, who are in danger of becoming victims of the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. If you haven't already heard, Matter of Trust is collecting human hair, scrap wool and pet fur to create “hair booms” and “hair mats” that effectively soak up the spilled oil.
Since I volunteer with a cat rescue group, I figured it would be a great fit to do a “Fur-Raiser,” where, instead of asking for money, we ask for “fur-nations”—fur that is groomed off dogs and cats that we will later ship to Matter of Trust. Even if I have eight cats, brushing them won't give me enough fur to make even one hair boom! We need lots more!
If you live in western Connecticut, USA and want to bring some fur-nations (dog and cat fur-only), we'll be accepting them at Your Healthy Pet starting this Friday, May 14 through to May 28, 2010.
YHP is also giving out treats to every pet (while supplies last) whose fur is donated and owners can also enter a drawing to win gift certificates and other fun prizes for pets!
And if you'd like a flyer to print out and hang up at work, you can do so by clicking the image, below.
Let's get brushing those pets and help the animals in the Gulf!
Recent comments